Ella wasn’t afraid of that. She was looking forward to it, she told herself firmly—for tonight, she was going to take charge. The shiver cloak might not have been any use in the city, but it would be ideal for Raven Hill. And there was one other relic of her past that would be very useful tonight. She found the low light glasses after much swearing and throwing things about the bottom of her underwear drawer—though what had possessed her to put them there was another mystery.
She gathered her hair into a messy but utilitarian ponytail, tucked the glasses into her pocket until she was out of the village itself, and wrapped the Shiver Cloak about her for the second time in as many days.
Outside, the village was silent. The darkness, chilly but not unwelcoming, was punctuated only by the occasional street light. It felt like she had the night to herself, but who knew, perhaps she didn’t.
Ella moved out of the wane light and into the shadows where her technology worked best. Putting the control glove on her right hand, she activated the cloak. It immediately warmed, not a bad thing, and when she looked down at her arm there was the reassuring shiver. Odd, how she felt so much nostalgia all of a sudden for a life that she’d been so desperate to leave behind.
She slid the glasses over her eyes, adjusted the cloak’s hood and unhooked its fine veil to hide her face.
Feeling herself slipping on old habits as easily as she slipped on the cloak, Ella turned up Henley Street towards Raven Hill. Qoth watched her go from the step, golden feline eyes not fooled by man’s technology.
It certainly was silent out here, but not oppressive. Ella always considered herself something of a city girl, but now as she walked through all the sights and smells of the night countryside she relished the peace there. It soothed her, made her calm, and ordered her thoughts. She could feel the stress and panic of that very strange day leeching out of her and being absorbed by the earth.
Ella twisted her lips at her own thoughts. She’d not be one of those lost souls, those crystal-waving sad-eyed people who looked for magic so very desperately. And yet—there was only one explanation for what she’d seen today. More importantly, it was the reason she was walking upwards. She shook her head and took a deep breath. She was not sad, she was not mad, and she most certainly was going to make up her own mind about things.
The wood when Ella entered it was soft and almost warm, the crescent of the moon making an appearance among the trees. Far off, a fox called into the night. She smiled and walked on.
The wood did not go on for long; it was really just a remnant of an ancient forest, more a park than anything else now. As the hill sloped further upward, it shed the trees and rose further with thin shrubs and thick grass. The shiver cloak whispered through them and Ella felt the urge to sing well up in her.
The stone circle was no grand affair, a short collection of cut rocks, half submerged in the earth. For nearly three hundred years the stones had lain buried, Ella had read all about that. Suspicious locals had first tried to break and then tried to conceal the relics of a past they didn’t understand. A local historical group had resurrected the circle about fifty years ago, digging them up with amateur enthusiasm and all without notifying anyone in authority.
Ella stood just outside the ring looking in, wondering if some revelation would suddenly occur. But there was nothing but her breath rising in the cool night air and the half face of the moon. She didn’t quite know what she’d been expecting, perhaps the whispering of the dead like Tania, or the white light of Ronan’s earth magic. But whatever it might have been, it was obviously not.
Ella’s hand went to the cloak’s hood. This was ridiculous, and she was about to pull it back and throw herself down in the grass, when the sound reached her.
It was not much; the snap of a broken twig, perhaps the sound of animals retreating from feet, but her senses were heightened by the stillness and maybe even the place as well.
Heart racing, Ella moved round the other side of the stone circle, putting a good solid rock between her and whoever was coming up the hill. Now was the test if the shiver cloak really did work. Even the thought of it failing made her hand sweaty in the control glove.
The two men who emerged from the shaded wood could not have looked any more out of place. And although Ella didn’t recognize them, she knew the type—corp dogs, Doyle used to call them. Operators who had once stalked the slums, but finding the going not quite plump enough, had switched allegiance to the enemy. That’s how he’d seen it, and Ella right now could see his point. Their long limbed stride spoke of purpose and something about the way they carried themselves made Ella positive that under those long coats was some serious weaponry. She shrank further back against the side of the stone.
Yet if she recognized the type of man, what scuttled out from the far side of the circle defied description. The white creature stood the height of a man, but it was on eight spiked limbs and resembled nothing so much as a giant white spider, but with a head that was disturbingly human and eyes that glittered in the pale light. Ella’s insides churned, her stomach cramped and for a moment her body forgot to breathe. This was the ultimate shock at the end of a day of shocks.
The men, though, were not alarmed, they did not break stride for one instant, coming into what she would have called striking distance.
One of them brushed his hair back from his face with what might have been nervousness, and the glint of metal showed all along his arm. A splicer, Ella thought to herself with a little wince. Doyle had always harbored a desire to become one, but had lacked both the funds and the complete fanaticism required to turn to technology for boosts. Some had hormone injectors, some corneal implants to enhance vision, but this one had obviously gone straight for the favoured option, partial exoskeleton.
Ella’s grip tightened instinctively on the control glove. But she couldn’t allow fear to drive her to stupidity. If she broke cover now, she couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t spot her; some corneal implants had been specifically designed to negate the effects of shiver cloaks. Ella tried to concentrate on keeping her breathing even and her ears open.
The creature, whatever the hell it was, spoke first. The flexible bones that covered its mouth split open, revealing a shark-toothed maw. “Have you found the Child?”
“The Child has never left our care,” the splicer’s voice was harsh, as if he were dealing with a belligerent used car salesman and not an unearthly creature.
“Liar,” it hissed, rising up on those blade-like legs and looking down at the humans. “You have the body, but nothing else. The spirit and anime are not within. You have to find them.”
“Easy for you to say,” the other man said in a deep melodious voice. “But that has no set form. We’re onto it, though. We have leads, and almost found her in London.”
“She is in no human city,” came the ugly reply. “She finds no comfort there.”
Ella bit her lip, managing to remain calm; they were talking about her somehow, though she could not say what this anime meant. But one thing was for sure, this creature was working with these men from Infinity Rose.
“We can only follow leads,” the splicer’s voice was flat, “and we don’t take orders from you, either.”
A soft rattle like something within the creature was moving, making Ella think of a snake. Those glittering eyes were flicking between the two men and the blade feet shuffled in the earth.
“You take orders from your mistress, that is true—but she and I have the same master. And I am hungry.”
Then the air was suddenly full of movement and sound. The creature leapt in a flurry of sharpness and malevolence, realizing the potential of the menace it conveyed. The splicer stumbled back, apparently even his hardened senses terrified by the swiftness, while the other collapsed on the ground as if in obeisance to the hellish creature. But he was not bending, he was falling.
Ella’s vision blurred and she felt the pulse of sudden blood on the earth as if it were coming from her own veins and
not those of the startled man. Her body plunged into shock, which was the only thing that kept her from screaming aloud.
The splicer had no time to save his companion; even his revved up senses and reactions were blunt compared to this creatures. The wave of horror that seemed to flow out of it reduced him to a stunned heap.
The victim did not have more than a moment to realize his own demise, his scream of outrage brutally short. The harsh sound of bone breaking echoed around the hills and the blood flew until the stones and earth and the murderer itself were dripping with it. The man’s form had not yet ceased twitching when the creature bent over him once more. The razor front claws flew like some nightmare granny knitting at terrific speed, and more cracks sounded, enough to make Ella’s stomach rebel. She forced a fist into her mouth to halt the bile and looked away.
The creature finished its deadly crafts and Ella glanced back, mesmerized by the terrible power.
The man, who could have hardly known he was dead, lay butchered just as Hamish had been. The difference being that Ella had only imagined what he’d looked like, while this abrupt violence was right in front of her and horror kept her eyes open. His ribs were splayed wide open; what should have been inside, hidden and safe, was now outside and dead.
The splicer’s feet finally gained purchase on the ground and those survival instincts kicked in. He leapt up with the dark barrel of an automatic pointed at the creature.
Its unimpressed stare halted him. The maw opened, the teeth now thick with blood and gristle, “This was the price agreed for my assistance. If I grow hungry, your mistress will feed me—and I will grow hungry without the Child’s blood. Find her and you will not become my meat, like your friend.”
The splicer watched the blood sliding off the creature's thick shell and reconsidered. His voice was no longer cocky or sure, instead thick with fear, “He… he wasn’t my friend.”
“Good, then, go back to your work and find what is required, if you wish to go on breathing,” the monster leaned forward on those deadly legs, breathing blood and death into the man’s face. “If you fail your task I will find you, and this one’s death will seem but a pleasant dream.”
Ella was not surprised to see this hardened warrior turn and sprint away. She wanted to do the same, but it felt as though she’d become part of the rock she hid behind. The thought that somehow the creature would be able to see beyond the shiver cloak was an overwhelming fear.
It watched the man’s frantic flight, and though it had no lips of any kind, it seemed to be smirking.
Then it turned back to the dead man. Front legs dancing delicately, it arranged his internal organs to its own unknowable pattern. And Ella could almost see a pale light within its hideous carapace and had it confirmed that it indeed was feeding on the blood.
Whatever the light meant, it did not take it long to fade. The monster rose higher on its legs and turned towards the forest once more. Ella’s heart started again.
But the thing turned back and those glittering eyes were not still, they darted between the stones, while the curled, feathery organs beneath its head fluttered. There was nothing else on this hillside, Ella knew that, so that could only mean one thing.
She would have to risk escape, because a chill certainty had settled on her: to stay here was to die like that man. I am quiet, she thought to herself, nobody’s ever seen through the cloak before.
Keeping her head bowed and her hand firmly on the control glove, she turned away, not meeting those searching eyes. She moved as quietly as she could towards the closest edge of the wood.
However, this creature was far from human and it was full of blood and a hunger that had not been satisfied by one mortal’s death. The rattle of its saber legs against stone, made Ella whirl around. No matter how much she wanted to leave the circle, she had to see.
It moved cautiously forward, those feathery organs waving in unseen breezes, the eyes scanning the ground.
Ella’s bravery failed her; she managed to hold back a cry of horror, but broke into a run. Only just keeping her feet, she pelted down the slope. It was impossible to remain silent. Every footstep and gasp of breath gave her away despite the cloak. A hiss of uttermost triumph split the air and she knew that pursuit and death were just a moment behind.
Reaching the trees, she dived into their darkness, but heard the rattle of the monster’s hard carapace not far off. The wood was so silent that it offered no protection. Ella would not die in the same place as the man, but she would share his pain.
I don’t want to die, Ella repeated the human mantra to herself in her terrified head, but it wouldn’t make any difference. She darted around a tree, a thick set oak, sure that this was it. This was the spot.
And the stallion that waited beyond reared up. He was the colour of sea foam, with huge dark eyes and a wild, tangled mane. In her terror Ella could hardly grasp what such a creature was doing here in the woods, so near her death.
The monster was close behind. The horse bent his front legs, unmistakably offering his wide back and it was such a refuge that Ella scrambled up. Barely had her fingers twined through that mane, than they were away. Clinging to his neck, Ella was bounced around. She’d never ridden before, but she was certainly not going to let herself fall off.
Trees whipped at her head, branches caught her hair and cut her skin, but she was alive. The air in her lungs seemed suddenly like a precious gift.
The creature was still there. Though the stallion wheeled about, his great haunches bunching under them, and they seemed to fly, they were still pursued. Ella felt giddy and faint; surely the forest was not this big, they should have reached the edge long before now. What was happening?
The horse stumbled beneath her, clipping his hoof against a tree root, and he almost went to his knees. Ella cried out, but he managed to spring upright and surged away once more. But she could tell he was faltering. The creature was tireless and the horse was not. The trees were forcing him to dodge and turn, and everywhere was danger.
Ella was crying now, tasting salt on her lips—not only for herself, but for the brave stallion who had meant to save her. Throwing a look over her shoulder she saw the monster scuttling on and felt the horrible weight of his desire on her.
The stallion called a challenge, a resounding whinny that made the trees shake and their enemy hiss. Then he was racing again, this time uphill, and the forest was dropping away once again but faster somehow. Ella wrapped her arms around the stallion's surging, sweaty neck and cried into it.
They were out of the trees and once more the stone circle loomed. Her rescuer galloped to the centre, past the creature's latest victim and onto the thick green grass. Here Ella slipped off, hoping that the stallion would leave, hoping that at least one of them could survive this.
But he did not. As she lay there, the air buckled around the horse like intense heat on a summer’s day, his form altered and it was Ronan who bent over her, a real human hand brushing her hair back from her eyes.
His skin was cool. Ella looked up and for the first time really saw into his eyes. It was funny how she’d never noticed them before, the deepest brown she’d ever seen, but something about them suggested a dark purple, almost black. They weren’t anything human, but then they weren’t frightening either. The panic that had gripped her slowly eased. In this ring of stone, with Ronan’s hand reaching for hers, it suddenly felt as though things weren’t all that bad.
She let him pull her to her feet. “You can defeat this thing,” she said confidently.
He did not let go of her hand, but he shook his head sadly. “You are too kind, Ella. I am Fey, but I have wasted all my Art in this Realm. The Seed is fresh and more powerful than I.”
“The Seed?”
“The Seed of the Unmaker—his final gift to the human world, a promise of devastation to come, woken by the scent of magic.”
“Then let’s run.”
Ronan sighed and looked down at his feet. “It has made a Loop,
sealed us to the hill—we will not be able to get out until dawn and we will not live that long. I’m sorry.”
And Ella suddenly noticed how tired he was, and the sweat of horse and man that was puddling at his feet. He was as pale as milk. But she wasn’t afraid, just dreadfully sad for him. “I wish there was something I could do.”
The Seed emerged from the woods, not hurrying, just deliberately making its way towards them, knowing that it had brought them to bay. The moonlight made its white shell gleam like bone.
Ronan raised Ella’s hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Looks like my dance partner’s arrived,” and then he stepped away from her to meet the enemy. Two steps from her side he shifted again, this time a jet black panther with eyes of pure gold.
Ella wanted to cry out for him to stop, but suddenly everything was changing. The air thickened, as if the two combatants were caught in a bead of glass, each movement slow and beautiful. It felt as though she could pick up that moment, twirl it in her hand; examine the meaning and loveliness of it.
The panther leapt to meet the Seed, and the cat was all elegance and grace. A tear sprang to Ella’s eye and the thought came unbidden that this second would never come again, no matter what the outcome. Every breath was precious, every action held meaning.
Then the blood came, Ronan’s blood. The Seed was faster and full with its Master’s power still, whereas Ronan, as he’d admitted himself, had spent the bulk of his already. Ella could see all this. They danced so close to her that she could have reached out and touched them, and when the blood flew stripes of it landed on her cheek and hair.
Ella’s eyes drooped, the awareness of her body fading, as if all her concentration had forced it out. She leapt aloft, seeing her own body standing idle, the whirling chaos of the battle and the ring of stone. The only thing she could feel was the warmth of Ronan’s blood and the dreadful ache of his sorrow. Even after hundreds of years, he did not want to die.
Digital Magic (The Chronicles of Art Book 2) Page 21